Now that things have quieted down, she’s back in her city apartment.
Because of the work of her hands (clearing a path through the woods), UD discovered, this time last year, a deer skull. She washed it a bit and placed it in a large white outdoor plant container. Now and then she glanced at its morbid beauty.
It didn’t mean much to her; it was one of several (less aesthetic) deer skulls she had discovered while working in the woods.
Nuno, her Portuguese landscaper, noticed the skull this morning and said to UD: “What kind of animal is that? Where did you find it? How did you get it?” He seemed rather excited.
Nuno explained that he collected animal skulls. “I put colored beads in their eye sockets and feathers on their heads.”
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Nuno proposed to pay UD for the skull, and she agreed. He gave her cash, and she gave him the skull.
“I earned money for the household by the work of my hands!” UD exulted to Mr UD and La Kid (staying in ‘thesda because UD is creeped out by the armed camp DC has become – she goes back to the city today). UD liked this phrase and repeated it. “It’s Biblical! The work of my hands!”
I asked him to order for me on Instacart this combination:
Like a lot of traumatized people, I’m reverting to the foundational securities of childhood – a childhood in which my mother basically cooked one dinner – spaghetti – and set out one lunch – a lukewarm Hebrew National hotdog, with French’s Classic Yellow mustard, inside a tasteless white bun.
Under normal circumstances, I would never ask Mr UD to order this for me, to have it in the house, to watch me eat it.
I mean, he would refuse to order it; and if I smuggled it in and he saw me eating it, he’d flee the room.
But when, out of a deep well of need, I – seemingly casual, but trembling inside – asked him to add these things to our grocery list, he unhesitatingly, with a profound and humane expression on his face, did so.
… that for decades every December UD has grabbed a Quiet Car at Union Station and taken the long scenic ride to Boston for a Polish Christmas. This year she’s home in ‘thesda with a small celebratory crew; and as is typical of ol’ UD, she’s happy with this, as she was happy with Boston. There’s an interest in ordering a small same day delivery treeish plant that sits on the dining table surrounded by gifts. The topiary bulls grazing outside in pachysandra (they honor Munro Leaf — author of Ferdinand — the last owner of our house) sport silver lights. The clear night skies have been blasting out, again and again, with meteor showers and conjunctions; yesterday’s sunny morning featured multiple contrails in formation. She prefers all of this to Boston’s blizzards.
A ce moment la (9:30 AM Dec. 24), nature has boiled up a wet and moody brew, and UD is happy with this. Why not. You want something expressive with your Christmas Eve dinner, and in a few hours smoky logs will heighten the gloom … Of course UD – knowing the forecast – should have gathered logs yesterday and kept them under cover blah blah blah, but UD is way non-Girl Scout. She will do her best with her Duraflame firestarter and other random kindling.
In two days Les UDs drive to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware – the summer White House – for their annual Atlantic New Year. As ever, blogging will continue.
… a scientist at NIH, gets her covid vaccination with other front line workers. With Fauci attending.
So far there’s little information, but what we have is intriguing. At around seven this morning, an FBI agent shot another person multiple times on a train at the Medical Center station (this is basically the highly sensitive location of the National Institutes of Health).
Les UDs are of course speculating as to the details.
I’m gonna guess, said UD, that this has nothing to do with his (let’s assume his) being an FBI agent, except for the fact that it means he was carrying a gun (who isn’t?). I’m gonna guess it was domestic – a fight with another guy over a woman?
It’s always possible he was threatened by a crazy fellow passenger, and instead of changing cars as the rest of us would do he decided to unload on him. Or he saw someone threatening someone else… But anyway, I’m going to go with something in his private life.
You get there by walking to the end of UD‘s property. From the edge, and down the ravine, the land is owned by CSX.
A spec megamansion listed for $55 million, currently in bankruptcy, boasts this original feature.
UD read its description aloud to Mr UD. He was lying in bed gazing at the beautiful early morning sunlight on the garden. He did not respond.
“Thoughts?” UD prompted.
“Trying to picture it,” he said.
“Yes. Also took me a moment.”
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“No.”
“No what?”
“No I don’t want it,” said Mr UD. “Why would I want to look up at people swimming above me?”
“What if they were naked? We’re probably talking skinny dipping here.”
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“No.”
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But UD’s thoughts had moved on. A Simon and Garfunkel tune, slightly altered, wafted through her mind.
And the dangling genitalia
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives…
… than your blogueuse, every now and then she becomes oddly inspired and does something like this.
… looks like a nineteenth century landscape painting. Like the other garden photo a couple of posts down, this was taken early on this late autumn morning, with the sun already up and doing its thing.
It all made me think of the poem “Sunlight on the Garden.”
UD‘s sunny garden, 9:00 AM, after the first frost of the season.
